


In My Darkest Hour

by AlElizabeth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Gen, Mental Health Issues, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 11:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14104707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlElizabeth/pseuds/AlElizabeth
Summary: Sam is rejected from Stanford and cannot cope. He resorts to desperate measures to get out of the life of a hunter.





	In My Darkest Hour

Sam Winchester stared at the letter in his hands, fingers trembling.

He couldn't believe it. This couldn't be real. It had to be some kind of a joke, a mistake.

He forced himself to look at the letter again, certain that he had misread the words printed on the paper.

But no, he had not been wrong.

After all his hard work, after all the worrying, and stress and sleepless nights, he still wasn't good enough. It had all been for naught.

Crumpling the letter in his fist, Sam's breathing increased, hitching. Since junior high he had dreamed of the day when he'd get his college acceptance letter, his ticket to escaping the life of a hunter.

And now he had nothing. No escape route, no reason to leave, no way out.

Sam knew that his Dad wouldn't be happy when he told him he was going away to college, that his Dad had always believed his youngest son's desire to pursue a post-secondary education was a phase he was going through and would grow out of it. But now Sam had nothing to tell, other than that John had been right; he wasn't going to college.

Sam closed his eyes, the years seeming to stretch ahead of him; years filled with pain and blood and fear…

Panic rose within the eighteen-year old like dark water and he opened his eyes.

He could not go on like this. He would not. He needed a way out. He needed to get away.

Casting his eyes around the grungy motel room, Sam's gaze landed on his brother's unzipped duffle bag and the items within.

Lurching forward, dropping the crumpled rejection letter, Sam picked up the bag and extracted the items, which had caught his eye, and his anxiety abruptly subsided.

A strange calm washed over the teen and he knew exactly what he would do.

SPN

Dean fumbled with the key to the motel room key, jugging a tray of drinks and a greasy paper bag full of take out food.

Unlocking the door and opening it an inch, the twenty-two year old called out to his sibling, holding out the drinks for Sam to grab.

"Hey! Give me a hand, would you? I hope you like Mexican!"

There was no response and his burden was no relieved. Dean frowned, "C'mon Sam, don't be lazy."

Peering into the room, it took him a moment to catch sight of his brother, lying across one of the beds, unmoving.

Smirking, Dean called out again, "HEY! Sleeping Beauty! Wakey-Wakey!"

The younger man did not move.

"Sam?" Dean spoke his brother's name, some of his humour disappearing. Sam was always a light sleeper and should have jumped up as soon as he knew his brother was back with dinner.

Dumping the take out onto the small table beside the door, Dean strode across to the bed his brother was lying on and his heart skipped a beat.

"SAM!" Dean cried and knelt on the bed beside his sibling.

The teenager lay spread eagle, head tilted ever so slightly over the edge of the bed, eyes closed, face pale, mouth open ever so slightly.

An empty bottle of whisky lay on the sheets beside him and an empty bottle of prescription painkillers was clutched in one hand.

"SAM!" Dean shouted and grabbed his brother's shoulders, shaking him a little, "WAKE UP!"

The younger boy's head lolled back, lifelessly.

"What the fuck? What the fuck did you do?" Dean asked, though he could put two and two together.

Laying his brother back down on the bed, he reached out with a trembling hand and pressed his fingers to Sam's neck, praying he'd find a pulse.

There was nothing.

Tears filled Dean's eyes even as he continued to keep his fingers pressed to his brother's throat, thinking that he couldn't be dead because he wasn't even cold yet.

"Sam," Dean moaned, "Sammy, c'mon man. C'mon, don't do this."

His brother did not respond.

Pulling his hand away from his brother's throat, Dean fumbled his mobile phone from his pocket and dialed the three numbers that would summon the men and women who surely would know what to do, who would be able to help his brother now.

W

Dean watched helplessly as the paramedics loaded Sam onto a stretcher, placed an oxygen mask over his face, and wheeled him out towards the ambulance, their expressions grim.

Standing alone in the motel room, the scent of cheap Mexican take-out filling the air, Dean had the crazy idea that if he just stayed where he was and didn't move, that if he didn't follow the ambulance to the hospital it would all be a dream and he'd wake up and Sam would be okay, that he wouldn't have taken a whole bottle of pills and washed them down with the whisky Dean had been planning on giving their father as a surprise for his birthday.

Dropping his gaze, the older brother's eyes found a crumbled ball of paper, slightly squashed by a paramedic's boot and he bent to pick it up.

Carefully unfolding the paper, Dean read what was printed on it and felt his eyes well with tears.

'Dear Mr. Winchester,

Thank you for applying to Stanford University. After careful consideration of your application and supporting credentials, our Admissions Committee has come to the conclusion that we unfortunately cannot offer you a position at our school. This year we have received nearly-'

Dean didn't read any further. He didn't need to. He had all he needed to know.

Sam had spoke of nothing but going to college since the seventh grade and ever since high school he had set his sights on Stanford University because of its prestigious school of law.

Oh, Dean was certain Sam had applied elsewhere, but he had had his heart set on Stanford and had been confident with his SAT scores, his acceptance wasn't in doubt.

Losing the chance to go to his desired school must have been too much for his brother who hated the idea of spending the rest of his life hunting monsters.

Letting the rejection letter fall from his fingers and onto the floor, Dean left the motel room without looking back. He climbed into the Impala and drove to the nearest hospital, his mind on nothing else but the sight of his younger sibling lying atop the dingy motel sheets, his eyes closed lightly, his face pale, lips a dusky blue, unmoving.

W

Dean told himself that waiting was a good sign, that if it had been too late to save his brother they would have told him right away.

Still, even though the nurse at the front desk had told him that Sam was in an operating room, he couldn't help but worry that the last time he would see his sibling was when he'd stepped into the deathly silent motel room, arms loaded down with cheap, greasy take-out food.

It didn't even occur to the young man to call their father. John Winchester was the last person Dean was thinking about at the moment.

Sitting on a grey plastic chair in the waiting room, Styrofoam cup of coffee growing cold beside him, Dean was torn between visions of his brother lying unresponsive on the motel bed and laughing and cheerful as Dean had last seen him before he'd left to get dinner, joking with him about what to eat.

Had Sam known then what he was going to do? Had he just been smiling for my sake, waiting for me to leave so he could… so he could…

"Family of Sam Winchester?" a soft female voice asked the nearly deserted waiting area and Dean stood up slowly, feeling light-headed. Peering through the windows around the room he only just noticed it was dark outside. How long had he been waiting here?

"I'm his brother," Dean replied and stepped up to the short, slim blonde-haired nurse who had called on him.

"Your brother is alive," she told him, her expression reserved, "But he is still unconscious. The doctors are keeping a close eye on him but they believe he should recover."

"Sam's okay?" Dean asked numbly.

The nurse nodded, "He had to have his stomach pumped but the doctors believe that some of the toxins were already in his bloodstream by the time he arrived here. They don't know what he will be like when he recovers."

Dean didn't know how to respond; he was simply trying to wrap his mind around the fact that his brother wasn't in the morgue.

"Can I see him?" he whispered.

"Of course," the nurse turned and led him through a set of swinging doors and down a maze of hallways before stopping in front of an unremarkable door and opened it.

There was only one bed in the small room, Sam's prone form lying beneath the thin hospital blankets. His face was still pale but his lips were no long that horrible bluish hue.

Dean approached his sibling hesitantly, as though afraid of waking him.

"If you need anything," the nurse said from behind the young man, "Just press the red button by the bed."

Dean nodded and grabbed the chair set aside for visitors and placed it right beside the bed before falling into it.

"Sammy," he murmured, reaching out and taking one of his brother's hands, marveling at how warm it was, "Sammy."

The eighteen-year old did not respond.

"Why, man?" Dean asked, "Why would you do that?"

Dean knew the answer but he wanted to hear Sam say it.

"Why would you do something so stupid… so selfish…"

Still Dean received no response.

"I… I know you don't like hunting… never did… but… but this? I mean, I thought you were smarter than this."

Tears welled up in Dean's eyes and he squeezed his sibling's hand.

"So what you didn't get into Stanford? That's not the end of the world. We… We'll figure it out, okay? We'll talk to Dad and we'll figure something out. Just… Just don't do this again… don't you ever do this again."

Dean paused, struggling to get himself under control. Tears were rolling down his cheeks and he roughly brushed them away with his sleeve.

"Wake up, man," Dean whimpered, "Please."

The younger man did not respond and the older brother squeezed his hand, hard.

"We'll get through this, okay? Together. But you've got to wake up. Deal?"

Dean's breath hitched and he wiped his face again.

"I just… I just wish you'd talked to me, Sammy. I just wish you'd told me about this before…"

The older brother let go of his sibling's hand. Reaching up, Dean put both of his hands over his face, digging his heels against his eyes.

"Damn it, Sammy," he muttered, "Just… Just let me know you're okay… Let me know you're still with me."

Lowering his hands onto his lap, Dean watched as, slowly, his brother's eyes opened to hazel slits, watery with tears and a raspy voice whispered, barely audible over the sounds of the machines monitoring his heart beat.

"I'm still here."

**Author's Note:**

> I thought of this a couple of nights ago and had the urge to write it. I did put a warning in the tags and hope that I did not offend or upset anyone with the topic.
> 
> The title for this fanfic comes from a song by the band Megadeth.
> 
> Please leave kudos or a comment if you liked this story.


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